The Lost Alliance (Rise of the Drakens Book 2) by Raven Storm (free ebook reader .txt) 📗

appearance of the island, not all is well.” His eyes flicked to the sky, even though the roof over our head blocked his view.

“The hordes have continued to place barriers over Lyoness. I am confident they have no plans on invading the island—the sacrificial wards have seen to that. Instead, they plan to trap us in. If you stay out much longer, I worry you, Benedict, Kieran, and Astrid will be trapped outside. You need to tell them as soon as possible.”

I swallowed heavily—that wasn’t good news. I stood, ignoring the slight swaying of my legs. I had to try and eat something quickly before I left. My eyes scanned the small hut, and I grabbed some fruit, nearly moaning as I stuffed it into my face. Ronan raised an eyebrow, impressed.

“I know you liked fruit, but—”

I ignored him, unable to get enough once the first bit of juice hit my tongue. I didn’t stop, eating the oranges, apples, pergainsa, and everything else until the bowl was empty. I burped once and sighed happily. I scowled at Ronan’s questioning glance.

“What? It’s draining work breaking through demon barriers.”

Ronan’s eyebrows rose further towards his hairline. I rolled my eyes.

“I have to go—I need to warn the others we have limited time to return. Where is Georg? I never got the name of the man I brought here.”

“Your wild man? See for yourself.”

Ronan took a step out of the house, onto a beautiful deck that had been built since I’d last been here. Then he leaped off the edge, opening his wings and gliding to the thick grass below. I followed, immediately spotting Georg conversing with the old man. I landed somewhat accurately, if not gracefully in front of them.

“Wren!”

Georg ran to me, arms spread wide. We embraced, then I pulled back, laughing.

“You must stop growing! You are nearly as tall as I am!”

Georg blushed then looked back to the man. He said something in their language, waving him over.

“Wren, this is… well, he says that he’s my grandfather—in our language, Supa.”

I squinted; the man didn’t seem old enough to be a grandfather, but when I looked closer, I noted the streaks of grey woven in between the braids. Meruse’s comment about their short lifespans flitted back to me, but I pushed it away. I bowed my head and he fell to one knee, once again clasping his fist against his heart.

I grasped his hands, pulling him up.

“Tell him his thanks is completely unnecessary, since it was Benedict who saved you as a child, not me.”

Georg ducked his head, his hands rubbing the back of his neck.

“I have. He insists on repaying you somehow. I’ve tried to explain, but—”

My eyes lit up.

“Ask Supa what he knows of the demon hordes, and their history.”

Thirteen

Supa knew quite a bit, it turned out. He talked animatedly, gesturing frequently with his hands as he kept up a steady dialogue. Georg frequently had to hold a hand up for him to stop, taking a moment to listen before translating to the rest of us. Within an hour, we had an entire crowd of drakens and witches gathered to hear his stories.

“We have many oral songs and legends, and most of them are about the demons.” A draken brought Supa a wooden cup full of ale, and the old man took it thankfully, warming to the drink and the audience gathered. I couldn’t help but laugh; Georg’s Supa was a showman at heart.

“They live on the opposite side of the mountain, far from where it was rumored the drakens dwelled. They have worn passages through the mountains, and frequently leave, traveling further north across the desert sands and beyond. He has never seen more than a legion of demons at once.”

I nodded; that made sense if they truly couldn’t stand to be in our lands for long.

“Supa says our people used to be mighty; the stone fortress the demons reside in was built by their ancestors, hewn by hand and their sweat and blood. We are proud of our lack of magicks, relying instead on hard work and sweat.”

Georg paused, hesitating.

“What did he say?” I probed. Supa prodded Georg sharply, and he relented.

“Alright, fine! He said… he said the home of the drakens was his birthright, and that you stole it from them. From us.”

The drakens nearby twitched, their wings flared in surprise and irritation. Pain and anger radiated from Supa’s eyes, and I felt for him. I couldn’t imagine living in the breeding house as a slave all my life, then finding out my family had built it. It had to hurt.

“Is that true? You didn’t build Dark Haven?” I asked everyone around me. The drakens looked away, not meeting my eyes.

“We made improvements; made it bigger, grander, but the fortress itself was there when we were banished. It was empty, though. Were we supposed to let it just crumble when we were in need?”

Ronan shot that last bit towards Supa and Georg. Supa narrowed his eyes, fury in his tone as he went on a diatribe, pointing at all the drakens and standing in anger. Our eyes all swung to Georg, who ran his hands through his hair nervously.

“He...he says it’s awfully convenient the drakens were banished to their empty fortress right after the Overlord attacked and scattered our people, pushing them out.” Georg paused, then said something to Supa in their own language.

“He said they braved the cold and harsh climate of the mountain to get to the gates—they begged the drakensto be allowed back into their homes.”

There was a shocked silence, and then Ronan tried to answer.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about. No one ever came! This is the first I’ve heard of it.” Ronan looked around at the other drakens, who nodded in agreement. Supa’s brown eyes filled with rage and grief. I turned to the few drakens who were watching, snarling. They quickly dispersed, finding other things to do.

“The show is over.”

Supa kept